Theory Of Donnativity

Morning has broken.  I am become philosophic.  Problem is, I can't remember, which is funny - kind of.  Since the short term memory is the first to go, I don't know why I can scarcely remember the long ago Theory Of Donnativity.  That's what my kids deemed it.

It had something to do with all of our interconnectedness - like a web.  About how change is good: the unknown being fresh and new as opposed to the known, which is stale and old.  Stasis.

Now I know some of you cling to what is known (or as I used to tell my children, that it would be a boring world if we were all alike).  My own husband simply cannot deal with change; cleaves to the past with all his being.  I, on the other hand, eschew the past, only want to see what's to come as I move forward in life.  I don't know why I am like that.  I associate it with my curiosity, but that is just my take.  Whatever....

So, I took this picture on the patio one morning.  The remembrance of that theory came up (or I should say the inability to remember it).  None of it really matters anyway.  So, I looked up some quotes about spiderwebs.  Seems like many of the great writers were interested in spiderwebs too.  Virginia Woolf.  Henry James.  Who'd a thunk?  Here were a few of my favorites.

Man did not weave the web of life.

He is merely a strand in it.

Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

Chief Seattle

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it.  I've never done anything for you.'

'You have been my friend', replied Charlotte.  'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'"

Charlotte's Web

"O what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive".

Sir Walter Scott

"Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web

telling a story of moonlit hours 

of weaving and waiting during a night."

Carl Sandburg

Hope this first day of May is a splendid one for you.

My Garden Spider

Every spring I look for argiope aurantia, commonly know as the Black and Yellow Garden Spider. If you don't like spiders, this variety is considered harmless to humans. With the elaborate web she weaves, I've come to enjoy watching these year after year. They start out each spring finding a spot where she will spend the rest of her days; tiny webs at first growing up to two feet across in late summer.
These Garden Spiders mate once a year, then lay their eggs at night and form a ball of silk around them. She guards her sack as long as she is able. As the fall nights cool, she becomes more frail and dies around the first hard frost. Her hatchlings, the size of a speck of dust, will exit the pod in the spring. The teenies then exude a strand of silk that gets caught by a breeze, and fly away...